


Private Party

by redux (sian22)



Series: One shot-two hearts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accords have been sorted out, Andean volcanoes, Bucky's 100th birthday party, Code Words, F/M, Fluff, New Relationship, Post-Civil War, Smut, Steve is a great big golden retriever, chocolate cake, delayed gratification, evil baddies have such bad timing, of partying, outdoors sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 04:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10180262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/pseuds/redux
Summary: You and Bucky are stuck out on surveillance on an unexpected mission.  Turns out there is an excellent way to distract your partner and boyfriend from missing his 100th birthday cake…





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the prompt 'Outdoors' for Bucky's 100th birthday. You can find others in the series here... http://bucky-plums-barnes.tumblr.com/post/157896111233
> 
> My apologies.. have never written this format before but how could a geologist pass up that prompt. Happy Birthday Bucky

“Helluva way to spend a birthday….”

 

Bucky shakes his head, grumbles low for just the two of you before sighting through his scope for the umpteenth time. Away in the middle distance nothing moves.  Not a bird.  Not a cavy.  Not even one of Darwin’s blue grey foxes Tony was so enthused about.  So far a bust.  If Xisis was planning on making his final move he was taking his sweet time about it.  

A hiss of angry steaming sigh leaks out.  Nothing—you’ve both got nothing--just like the last ten times you’ve checked.  Reluctantly Bucky hunkers down, uses the jut of rock that forms your blind to shelter from the wind.  The March air might be warm but the swirl whipping across the poa grass is strong.  Grit flies with every gust.

 It makes you itch to clean the barrel of your gun.   

 Instead you wipe the tawny film off your goggles and give him your best halfway sympathetic stare.   

 “Asshats wait for no man..”

“Or woman..”

 He’s grinning.  You’ve raised an eyebrow, and he’s grinning wider in _that_ way.   For a panicked moment you worry if the game is up, if he’s got wind somehow of the hastily postponed party plans.  You narrow your gaze and look carefully askance.  Lying like this… shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the wind lifts his sable and your blond locks to mingle freely, you can see those seafoam eyes have widened hopefully.   

He’s not certain but dang he knows what he wants.  His friends. Some shots of a halfway decent overproof tequila.  And you.    Not necessarily in that order.           

“Sorry Buck.. this sucks..”

 You pull your pony tail back down across your shoulder and hide the relief that floods your face.  Operation Rip van Winkle still secure.  For when Operation Catch-Asshat-No-62 comes to its end.

You pop up and take a sight of your own, reduce your aperture to _it_ -the target- while your finger flirts with the trigger. Your concentration focuses.  Ripples run backward in a pond toward a breaching rock, tighter and tighter, the chaos of your body’s noise dissipating into a tiny pinpoint of exquisite clarity.  Your toes dig into the moss, ready to spring should your senses cry out _move_.  

 You don’t.

 Nothing is moving. No one is coming in or out.  The rundown jumble of weathered planks looks just as it did before.  Deserted.

 You lay back down, set systems back to alert.   “Fuuuck…”

 “Yeah.”   

 You’re not sure if Bucky’s monosyllable if for the heightened boredom of waiting for the fight or the craptastic coincidence of the day.  Or both.   It’s his birthday. His hundredth birthday to be exact.  A year ahead of Steve and damn but isn’t it an anniversary to celebrate.  Hydra’s meticulously chilling records showed all too clearly that the Asset had spent 80.25% of his birthdays locked into the tank.  It’s Bucky’s first since being free, since all the terrible things he went through in the Civil War.  And Infinity. He _deserves_ an awesome day and you and the rest of the Avengers team had been primed to give it to him.

 You’d all been bummed when the mission flashed on Jarvis’s warning screen.

Amidst the semi-chaos of pelting full tilt for the jet ( _Xisis! Hot damn, a chance to take him down. Dude was slipperier than Loki in cherry lube_ ), you and Wanda had just enough presence of mind to quickly stow the cake into a red med case normally used for emergency supplies.  It’s waiting, along with forks and noisemakers and even a few balloons, back at the rendezvous.  The rest--- formal bash, the 100 guests and all the presents-- will have to wait ‘til you are back at the tower, patched and safe.  

 “What is it with volcanos and evil baddies?”

 You laugh as Bucky almost growls this out.  Man sometimes it does seem true.  Sauron.  Mirage.  Dr. Evil.  And now Xisis. The ramshackle ‘shepherd’s hut’  that covers the entrance to the villain’s liar is perched in a caldera of one of the Andes’ high volcanos.  You look around nervously again.  The jumbled blocks of tephra look weathered, crumbled and a bit forlorn.  Bruce has assured you it is extinct.  Thank god.  You have no interest in adding Pompeii-reenactment to  your bucket list.

 You bump Buck’s shoulder, almost imperceptibly, with your own.   “Why?  It’s the back ass of nowhere and there are ready minions.”

 “Minions?” 

“The penguins,“ you explain, jerking your chin toward the sea,  downslope toward the crazy small flightless, guileless inhabitants of Melimoyu’s lower slopes.   There are thousands of them.  Following each other in orderly single file.   “Just like ultra loyal, ultra stupid Hydra agents.”

 Buck cracks a lopsided grin and reaches backward to pat comfortingly at his favourite knife.    

Bingo.   #Squadgoal accomplished.  You’ve cheered him up.  Well, a little anyway.  For a heartbeat you bask in the sheen of happiness before adjusting your position once again.    _Concentrate Y/N,_ _concentrate._ You have a mission to complete but god you love his smile.   Snarky when it’s out in the world with Earth’s 7 billion inhabitants.  Soft and sultry when it’s at home with just him and you.

You love both of them.  Both are an indicator of just how far he’s come.

The knife turns a flip before finding its sheath again.  “Easier to pick off that way,” he drawls.   

You stare wide-eyed in shock.   _Is he bloody f’ing serious?_    For the love of little green apples you are not going to stand by and watch Bucky start _another_ diplomatic incident.  The Accords have finally amended. Steve and Buck, Wanda and Sam, and Clint are back, and _alive_ , home within the Tower.  No way the Chilean government is going to be chill about the Avengers picking off a protected, helpless waterbird.

 You open your mouth to argue but then you catch the helpless shaking of his ribs.  “Bucky!”  The teasing shit.   Just for kicks you rip the prickly little stubborn thing that has poked your wrist all morning out by its roots, shoot it to the right, planning for a landing just barely above his nose.  Unfortunately you fail to consider its faulty ballistic tendencies.    

“Hey.”  Bucky grimaces as it drops into his long hair above his collar.  Where it clings.  Temptingly.     

 You have to grip the barrel of your Mod 1 SPR a little tighter to keep your fingers where they belong.

 Merde.. It's been just a month since the mission to clean out the Hydra cell.  The one where you wound up almost crushed, cradled in his arms, heart-breaking at the thought that all of it was too hard.  Dating.  Working side by side.  Only his implacable certainty that you both  _need_ to be a team convinced you to try again.   

But that doesn't mean it is always easy to separate your roles.

While Buck brushes the flora off you think about the whirlwind past six months.  You’d jumped at the chance to be reassigned from SHIELD.  Escort and protect missions had become routine-- the idea of guarding a national hero, James Barnes no less, newly back from the hearings that  exonerated him, had been just too good to be true.  You were the one tasked with keeping his broad (and hunky) back protected.   First secretly from a distance; and now close in.  

Because of course he can’t be counted on to take a personal threat too seriously.  Leap first, ask questions later pretty much sums up both him and his best friend Steve.

It is still a little weird to be hanging with the Avengers.  They treat you as an equal.   Tony likes your take no shit attitude. Steve likes your eidetic memory for baseball stats.   Clint likes having someone around who can almost take him at the weekly darts.   You figure if an ex-carnie can survive amongst all that serumed or tech’d enhancement then an ex-scout sniper can too.  You’re not a supersoldier but you are a supershot (President’s Hundred Tab thank you) and though the fight training has been more intense than any you had before, brutal and brutally efficient, you wouldn’t trade your current assignment for the world.  

Helping Bucky, well that was the icing on the cake.  For some utterly inexplicable reason, around you he manages to control the last few bits of the Asset’s resting murder face that Wanda and T’challa could not remove.  

It’s a win for everyone. 

Out on the plain there’s no movement but Tony’s voice crackles in your earwig.   “Capsicle?  Freezer boy?“  Bucky rolls his eyes expressively but neither of you move a hair, unfazed by the sudden burst of static. “Hang on australopithecenes.  Stand down.  We wait for nightfall.  Our contact just got out that Xisis is out on patrol.”

You drop your head onto your hands for just a second.   The brief green flash that took off 3 hours ago?  That had been _him_?!   _Shiittt._  You relax your left index finger and briefly consider setting safety on.   Naw.    You _are_ surveillance but also cover for Steve and Sam when they get going.  And Nat and Clint.  Might as well be settled but not overly.  This op is the culmination of months of intel.  Two agents from Team Gamma had been immortalized on the wall for the lat/long of this location.  

Bucky sets his rifle aside and flips over, down onto his back and smacking his metal hand against the tuff.  It leaves ridges where the joints are flexed. 

“Goddammit to hell, y/n,  that was hours ago.”

 It was.  No way now any of you are getting home before the end of March 10th.  

Hating to see him upset, you rise up onto your knees and try to put a note of hopefulness in your voice.  “May be he’ll be back soon.” 

“Yeah.  And maybe Stevie’ll learn to use a parachute.” 

No chance of _that_.  Your shoulders droop watching the deep crease settle between his brows. It’s back.  Two whole months you’d managed to banish it, two whole months of no nightmares and no brooding days.  Chasing away night's dark shadows with your warm caress.  Having his back everywhere he needs. 

The dismay must show in your face because suddenly he looks up, runs a metal finger ever so gently along your jaw.  “Sorry babe.  Sorry.  I’m shitty company.”

 “Never..”

 “I’d just.. kinda set my heart on celebrating this time around. You know?”

 You catch his fingers and squeeze them.  “We will.  Soon.  If not today.  Tomorrow. Or the next.  I promise.”   

This seems to jolly him a little because Bucky squeezes gently back, tilts his head against the rock and quietly sighs,  consciously letting his shoulders down.  A few curt words of Russian trip from his tongue.  He’s counting, running through a centering routine, relaxing tight muscles willfully and it’s a good sign.

From what he’s said,  in Bucharest he couldn’t have done that if he’d wanted to.

You lie down, not quite touching him, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, willing some of your own calm centredness to seep across.    

At least the hiding space is protected.  Might as well find something to pass the time.

You’re just about to ask him if he wants to try ‘I Spy’ (it does keep both of you focused on the terrain) when another round of chatter interrupts to the faint whistling of wind through rock.

It’s Clint.  Sounding blasé as ever.  “I’m taking a nap.  Wake me up when the shooting starts.” 

Nap?   What the hell?  Barton’s a disaster yes, but sleeping on the job??  

“The flaming idiot isn’t really going to sleep?!” you exclaim.  A quick worried glance across shows Bucky’s handsome face singularly unperturbed.  

“S’fine.”

“Really?  Come on.”   You poke Bucky in the side, pulling yourself to sitting.  “This is serious.  It’s not safe.  A lone patrol might sneak up on him.  Or an animal.”    Beside the foxes there are skunks, and possums.  And hairy armadillos that scream really, really loud. 

You frown, concerned.  If something isn’t done to redress this problem you might, horror of horrors, have to  get on the comms.    

 You see the realization of this flit across Bucky’s handsome features.  He bites his lip.  And stammers. “Ah…nope…. It’s um.. ”  The faintest of pink blushes creeps up his cheeks, darkening in his hairline to a shade just south of  flaming red.  “It’s uh..a code..”

“A code?”  You blink, owl-like, in surprise. 

“To let the others know.   Nat’s with him.”

Nat?  The penny finally drops.  “They’re gonna makeout?!!  Out here…?!”  

Bucky  is now full on grinning at the expression on your face.  “Mhmmm..”

How?  Your head whips around, eastward, scanning for their cover and a sign.   They are not that stupid.  Aren’t standing up in eye line sight, of course, but..really.  Clint and Nat are just going to fuck the afternoon away?  Outside?  

All of a sudden another penny clanks into the jar.  “But all of them have been taking ‘naps’ for weeks!”

“Babe …”  Bucky struggles to hold the laughter in.  ”With Sam it likely really is.. Steve’ll watch him.  But Tony, that time Pepper when came, that was a code.  And Clint and Nat in Navotua.   And Wanda and Vis …”

“I knew it,“ you crow, thumping Bucky on the arm.    “It made no sense.  Vis isn’t even human.  There’s no need for him to sleep.”    Nope.  And if anything is clear, it’s that he and Wanda are a thing.  It’s sweet.  

Bucky has now given up on restraining his sense of humour, breaks down, laughing at you but you don’t care.  If there is one thing you both share it’s a finely honed self-deprecation.  You giggle.  So much for secrecy with this team.   As you  pause, rearranging your thoughts around this new realization,  you notice an intenseness has come over Bucky’s resting form.  

There’s a new glitter to a pair of ocean eyes and a quirk to a pair of wind chapped-shaped lips. 

Oh gods. Your insides know that smile. 

Working together you both had simply clicked.  Massive understatement—you had not just clicked, you had _locked_.  Stock and barrel.  Your take down of the hydra assassin poised to blow his head off had left Bucky with his mouth hanging open and naked longing on his face.

It _had_ been a rad wicked shot.  You’d shrugged, saluted and been amused.

Turns out the longing wasn’t entirely for the hit.

James Barnes, 32557038, has a competency kink the width of a superhighway.   And you have a thing for sleekly deadly sexy arms.  It’s a match made in,…well….if not heaven, then where ever both of you are heading too.

Since the first crazy, crazed night together you’d kept your liaison need-to-know-- as in nobody needs to know.   Steve’s wildly hopeful, shit-eating grin when you walked, blinking blearily, out into their kitchen space wearing the poured-on black velvet dress from the post-medal-party was more than enough to take.   It isn’t that the team won’t be happy for Buck, they’d be ecstatic, beyond thrilled to find him with someone, but you both have an eensy teensy problem with trust.  He is just beginning to know the normal human race again and in your experience 99% of the male species are jerks.  Gorgeous but gorgeously disastrous jerks.  And although you really, really expect Bucky isn’t that, it's complicated.  He was your mission.  Is still your mission  and sleeping with or dating him is technically a contravention of the rules. 

That Director Fury chooses to ignore them given the obvious benefits helps, but it is all a little fragile.  A little flame in a small and fiercely smoldering campfire.  Fan it too hard and it might go out.

(You’ve already endured weeks of a giant golden retriever jumping all over it when you were both trying to take it a little slow. 

Yeah slow.   Excepting the making out.)

“Wait.. Buck..umm..”  You don’t pull back but you do sit straighter up, trying to ignore the amazingly deft metal fingers that are walking up your arm.  He slowly and circumspectly lays his gun aside.  Now both hands are getting into the coaxing act. You swallow hard and lick at lips gone suddenly far too dry.  His gaze is so full of heat it could ignite the scrub.   You want to give in, let him take you right there, right now, hot and fast and hard, but the blind feels a little insecure.   Exciting and frightening all at once.

You bite your lip.   “What if something comes..?” 

“Y/N,” he smiles and shakes his head, leans forward to plant a light kiss on your nose.  “We ain’t seen a friggin’ bird…If it’s bigger than a rodent Jarvis will let us know.”

True, there’s not been much wildlife, not up on the plateau at least.  You hesitate and think of the fun things waiting back in your room.  The jade halter dress for the birthday party that picks out the green in your hazel eyes.  The silver Louboutin heels that Pepper has insisted on. The bare scrap of embroidered black lace in the new Fleur bra. 

You had been planning on going without the matching thong. 

What’s all that next to making your man happy on his actual birthday?  You've been looking forward to seeing him in a tux again.   Bucky has style.  Cobalt and black Azar cut to show off his shoulders and his thighs. Gorgeous and striking and just right for such a special day.

Sigh.  Maybe you can convince him to roleplay it if the shindig is called off. 

Wait.  What are you thinking?  No way Tony is going to pass up a chance to light the Tower up.

“Come here doll..”  His voice growls softly, warm and tempting, as his fingers pull you close.   You stop  just a hairsbreath away.  So close that the leather of his tac vest is no barrier to the furnace blast of heat and scent from his supple skin. 

The mossy scrub underneath your knee is yielding.  Perhaps this is good idea after all.

“Yes.”

One word and gun-calloused hands reach out to hold your cheeks, pull your mouth closer, lips devouring yours in one swift press.   Bucky’s thumbs caress the soft hollow below your cheekbones, reach around to tug in your hair with just the right amount of rough.

You let your own fingers ran questioningly up his sleeve and across his shoulder to his throat.  His pulse is beating wildly, kick groove to your baijon.  So it begins again.   Just a touch-a feather kiss and the spark has been set to tinder. You’re panting, lips parted, and Buck’s raining hot kisses down your neck. 

 _Gods._ _Will_ _you ever stop wanting this?_

He pulls you farther up his lap.   Your folds are pressed against his hardened length.  It makes you dizzy and  you grab for purchase,  raise your hands wind your thin elegant fingers into his long strands.   A helpless groan escapes your lips when cool metal brushes against your lower lip. 

The undressing is awkward and hilariously wild and inchoate.  You rise onto your knees and gasp and laugh at Maria’s foresight to order easy access suits for outside patrol-the velcro opening of yours is meant for the call of nature but yields instantly to Bucky’s grip.  You fumble with the buckles of his vest, intent on feeling skin and squeal (softly) in surprise when strong hands pull your own tac zipper roughly down.   Buck lifts his hips just long enough for you to tug his pants farther down.  Dark hair and a hard cock spring free.

You both still have your boots on and it hits you that that is a turn on too…    _Jesus, what a pair of nerds._  You think of dark brown army serge and laugh.  Just wait ‘til Buck sees the boring unisex SHIELD dress duds.  Nothing to twinge a uniform kink there. 

Before Bucky can move you trail your fingers teasingly along his straining length, marveling at how he can have such a pretty cock.  Mouthwatering, but there really is not time for languorous foreplay.  Buck tilts his head back in rapture, let his hands finally raise to brush your waist--two warm brands just inches from your cunt.  You are wet and dripping, desperate to feel him there.  From beneath his fine dark lashes he’s watching your face, gauging your reaction.  There is nothing tentative to his gaze or the first strokes as he wriggles fingers beneath the teflon-coated cloth toward your clit.  You close your eyes and dare not watch, flushed with the memory of their feel within you last.  They had been hard and warm and you want them slick and urgent far inside but that is not so easy here. 

Buck hums, seeming to know exactly how you feel, that you need more..  

He half sits up, abdominals clenching in a way that makes your insides shake.   You clutch at his shoulders and pull them closer still.  Now your kiss is wilder, fueled by need and haste and throwing some (but not all) caution to the local wind.  Tongues touch and twine, now pressing forward to claim one mouth, and then the other.   You bleat, dismayed when his lips leave yours but then warm breath gusts across your nipples.  

He dips his mouth and suckles hard.   

 _Sweet mercy._   This is torture.  With a muffled cry you arch your back and Buck pulls you closer, your soft breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest.  A sudden jolt of greater need courses through.  His hips grind madly against your core.

“Baby, touch it. Touch me please.”  Buck is hissing.  Your soft and supple fingers obliging stroke up and down his  oh so very full  and leaking cock. 

Your green eyes glitter playfully. "Are you ready for me yet old man or do you need more time? I wouldn't want to rush a guy who is still recovering?" 

Recovering.  He snorts.  Officially, taking a bullet to the shoulder gets an agent off duty for several months.  For a supersoldier it’s more like two days.    

“I’ll give you old.  Come here!”  Buck’s words are nearly lost in a growl of lust so feral it echoes in your chest.  You gasp.   You are lifted bodily, up above his hips and a white hot molten pleasure floods through.   “Fuck, you are so wet…” He pulls you down until your buttocks rest upon his thighs.   Below you he is all hot hardness and whispering leather,  the rock is solid but the moss cushions his bare buttocks and your knees.  The contrast, and the straining lust in Bucky’s voice, are practically intoxicating. 

“You good, beautiful?”   Bucky’s eyes shine brightly as his smile, runs his hands longingly up your arms, leaving shivers in their wake.

“Mmmm.”   You are concentrating, eyes closed, moving forward and back a little to see where you fit together best.  You slump a little farther forward---there--his eyes widen as he feels the pleasure of the shift.  Slim hips can no longer wait, they begin to thrust and you rock down, enveloped by soft pants and moans.

He is so gorgeous.  You have always thought this, but right then, vulnerable, head thrown back, chest heaving with maddened need, he is something else again.   Slowly you bend down to kiss the hollow of his throat, draw your tongue down lower, taste his salt and muskiness, push aside his shirt to swirl your tongue through the dark hair clustered round a pink and rosy nipple.  

“Y/N”  Your name is a breathy plea.

Both your hands now rest on either side of his head, touching the rock, fingers splayed for purchase.  He must miss your touch for suddenly he raises up, stomach muscles rippling as he places hard hands upon your hip, claims your mouth,  devours all your breath as his surging cock devours the aching void.  

This is delirium.  His hands move to grasp steadily at your waist, pull you downward to meet each towering thrust, press down your core rhythmically against his lower belly.  Every time your swollen clit is brushed again you keen, a frantic mix of exultation and purest lust that sends shivers up Buck’s spine.  Jesus you should be quieter, but you are both far gone, so ravaged by the fire you do not think it possible to stop.  Unbearable pleasure is shooting through your veins.   Bucky’s whole body is vibrating with the need to come but he is holding off.. fighting to keep from unraveling before you reach the edge.

It’s near.  Oh so near and the muscles cord in his neck..straining to hold on.  “Let go…” you whisper hot and high into his ear and feel the sudden breakdown of control, a last wild thrust and it is enough.. You gush, wet and hot, rippling deep inside and with a strangled roar he comes, emptying up into you.

It’s utter bliss.  He holds you tight, thrusting with his slowly softening cock, as you tremble yet again, teeth clenched and lost, the waves of another release rolling on and on.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

For many minutes afterward you do not know if you lie on him or him on you.  You’re floating endlessly, drunk on the tide of release,  wondering how did this become your life?  How did you get to be connected with this incredible, amazing, caring man?   You love him.  You know that now but those are words that can’t be said quite yet.  

They are too big.. too likely to extinguish all the oxygen.  And you are afraid he won’t say them back.

A drop of sweat rolls off your nose to splash upon Bucky’s chest.  It reflects the metallic sheen of your SPR.

“Bucky?”

“Hmmmm.”   He shifts a little.  There is a faint whine of servomotors as he strokes your hair,  a happy sigh as his flesh arm winds around your hips.  His warm cock is still inside you but the skin on your lower back is cooling rapidly.  You need to move.  Your pony tail is coming out and your chronometer shows that an hour has quickly passed.   You suddenly really, really want to hold your gun.

The familiar whine of repulsor engines hits both your feeds just as you are about speak.

It’s Tony.   “Ah..sleeping beauties..Prince Charming here.  Hate to tell you but it’s time to kiss a frog and split.”

“What?”  Sam’s  voice sounds groggily in your ear.  He has slept.  Per Bucky’s accurate guess.  “Are we not waiting for nasty dude?”

“Nope.  New info. Xisis will not be back… “

“Shit.”  Steve sounds seriously disappointed but you cannot breach the hold.  Not without spoiling your source inside. And your best chances of success.   “So we wait for another day and rack up frequent flier points?”

“Yup.. you too could make it to Disneyland some day.  And language Cap. This is a delicate ecosystem.   Ok Barnes since you didn’t nap we’ll come and get you first.”

What?!  That has both of you bolting upright..pulling apart and scrabbling madly to do up clothes.  Buck swearing sotto vocce before he hastily literally and verbally waves Stark off.  “Ummm negative… We have a situation here.”  

You can almost hear the repulsors screech to a stop somewhere across the ridge.  “What?  Bogeys..”  

“No!”  You are doing your best not to laugh out loud as Bucky’s brows waggle,  searching for an excuse.  “Ah.. my safety’s  jammed.  Can take it on board until it’s loose.  Just..go get the others first.” 

“Amateurs..” Tony huffs, just as Clint cries “Fuck no.”

By the time the quinjet lands beside you both have not a hair or buckle out of place.  You follow Bucky up the ramp, holding your rifle in safety mode, taking one last look around, keeping to your usual quiet self while he accepts the good-natured ribbing with grace.  You take your seat and buckle in.  It’s startling to find that no one seems able to see that you are still throbbing down below, sated and a little weakly boneless and you jump as Buck sits down beside.   

He smiles and taps a knee to yours.  Unlike you he’s all keyed up.  Excited that you could, if the headwinds behave, be back in time after all.   

“Stark, “ he hollers froward, “can you make this thing go warp?”

“Why ever Barnes?” asks Tony, faux innocently. “You turn pumpkin at the stroke of midnight?”   

“No…but I turn past one hundred so that’s got to count for something.”

The hold lights up with quickly stilled little smiles but Bucky catches none of it.  He’s hunched down, face hiding behind the curtain of his hair.  Not quite pouting, but obviously believing there is nothing going on.  You nod to Wanda when she looks pointedly toward the med bay. You can’t leave your seats so you mime plates and implements.  Beside Steve, Sam nods and pats a bulkhead at his head. 

O.K.  you’re set.  Now you need to wait for cruising altitude.  

You stretch out across the aisle and tap Steve’s boot with yours.  If anyone can perk Bucky up until then it’s his best friend and roommate.   Steve looks up and flashes that golden grin, eyes dancing.  Hoo boy.  You just know some major teasing’s coming up.

“Jeez Buck,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles to get attention,  “from what we saw today, old guys like you gotta be careful with their equipment.  Shoulda taken a nap when you had the chance.”

You almost choke as the jet erupts.  Bucky blushes beet red and Steve winks at you.  Oh my fucking god--he knows.  What you've both been up to.   The sassing idiot has guessed. He’s going to blow your cover:  you’re freaking and thrilled a tiny bit and just dying at the same time but then the motor's whine rises to a full on roar and you lift off. 

Later, when Clint and Tony leave the cockpit to the autopilot you all gather round a flipped down cot and surprise Bucky with the cake.  It’s not his mom’s famous recipe but it’s the best chocolate cake to be found in a modern Brooklyn bakery.  He is thrilled.  You all sing, Clint wildly off key and Wanda in a gorgeous clear soprano, before Tony tells him about the grand party just waiting for when you land.  Overcome and little teary, Bucky makes a speech about it being the best birthday he’s ever had.

He is looking straight at you when he says the words.  

As if he wants to tell the whole world how he feels.

Butterflies pull somersaults in your stomach. 

Could you do it?  Come out to all your friends?  It's a huge big deal, officialdom aside.  You are admitedly getting used to this Avenger thing.  To dating someone you work with.  Bucky is simply wonderful--he’s caring and committed, not going anywhere--you see that now---and maybe you both do deserve to have a little happiness. 

Maybe you’ll tell Maria to stamp your transfer permanent--you hate the Army Class A brown uniform after all-- and is there honestly a better birthday present to give Buck than showing him, publicly, how much you stand beside him?

A little niggle of excitement coils in your chest.   How would you both come out that night?  A straight on announcement feels as if it would take the thunder out of his special century.  Something more discreet seems apropos.  Maybe a public kiss.  Or a long slow handsy dance in the middle of Tony’s disco zone.  That would give everyone the clue.  

You will the butterflies to land en mass and nod.  The almost telepathic partner link between you both gives Buck the hint.  His dark brows fly up and a sunrise smile rises on his face.  

It's absolutely beautiful.  

You flush and hurriedly dip your face down to lick chocolate from the side of your fork, thinking of the night to come.  How Sam will razz you both for waiting.  How Pepper will cry and Tony will pump you for all the details--naming your firstborn after him in wild exuberance.   It's ok.  It is.  Baby steps.  You’re just relaxing at the thought, hatching a halfway sound strategic plan for a public relationship when Nat slides over, looking at you with that intent and always intimidating gaze.

Her next words make you freeze.

 "How was your nap?” 

_Oh shit._

If Nat knows what you were up to does that mean Clint does too?  “How?  How... did...you?”  you stammer, realizing there is no point in bullshiting.  Not now.  

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._   You want your coming to be planned.  Subtle.  Not blurted out in the middle of an op.

You tense, poised to deal with some snark but then she raises an auburn eyebrow and lays a steadying hand upon your shoulder, glancing back to peer at Bucky, standing happy and excited amidst the group.   “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything until you’re ready.” 

Of course.  Nat gets it.  She’s been there.  Understands in her bones that it robs Bucky of something essential when choice, to act or not,  is withheld.

Your shoulders droop in relief.  “How did you know?”  In retrospect, it was ridiculous--thinking you could keep anything from a team of supersoldiers and superagents.

She laughs delightedly.   “Easy.  We’re in the southern hemisphere y/n.  Seasons are reserved.  It may be spring Stateside..but here is berry time.”

 _Hunh?_   

Nat flashes a quick glance down your front and then across to Buck.

His back is to you.   In the flickering bulkhead blue lights that Tony has set to party mode you can see quite clearly.

Your knees and shins, his hips and back and shoulders are all covered in purple stains.

 _Oh my fucking god._  

 So much for subterfuge.

 


End file.
